Hello Gentle Reader,

I think I'll open a bottle of red and kick back tonight. This week has proven to be so stressful that I doubt even yummy Sven couldn't relax me with a swedish massage. But it may be worth a try......

Why are some weeks easier to handle than others? Are there different limits to our tolerance? How come I can be in my office and handle clients calling about their declining account balances in the state of the stock market, and then freak out when I break a nail getting gas? Why can I tolerate a 4 year old kicking the back of my seat as we sit in traffic, but when my husband tries to snitch a slice of bacon while I'm cooking breakfast he's in danger of losing an arm from my wrath?

Is it a matter of importance? Your position on the "food chain" your rung on the ladder? I know we can't quabble over what we can't control. But I can control my emotions and speak in a calming manner when Mrs.-I-retired-in-1993-and-expect-my-retirement-account-to-carry-me-through-the-golden-years hits an all time market low. And I can say to Madeline, hey darling girl, can you stop kicking your feet, you're hitting aunt Sindy's seat with your feet and bumping my back, without sounding like the mistress of an orphanage in 1924.

But when my husband forgets a phone message or a co-worker twists my words you might think you were watching a remake of "Carrie".

Is it because I love my job and I LOVE LOVE LOVE children that I am more tolerant of them? But I love my husband, so why can he set my teeth on edge? Hmmmm. I think an educational grant may be in order. I'll apply for a few hundred thousand and then grab my best few girlfriends, a few bottles of pinot and a summer cottage by the beach and get right to work!

Maybe I should start an advice column? I love giving advice. And of course it would be free so anyone could write in. I wonder how one does that. I'll have to ask Fe.

Well, this wine isn't going to uncork itself, so I'll take a breather, let the wine breathe, and be back atcha.
xoxoxoxox Aunt Sindy